


Finding Innocence

by confessionart



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Fae & Fairies, Family Dynamics, Fictional Religion & Theology, Folklore, Gen, Kinda, Learning Disabilities, More tags will be added later, Non-Linear Narrative, Unreliable Narrator, sbi adopt tubster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28355805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/confessionart/pseuds/confessionart
Summary: He gets reminded of it a lot; How Innocence is vines growing up old brick houses and water droplets dripping from a leaf. Innocence is the sweet swell of a pie's crust when it's baked, rising and falling, and rising again.
Relationships: Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Finding Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Clarification! 
> 
> #1: Tubbo is referenced as BOTH "Innocence" and "Tubbo" (As well as "Stranger" for Ch.1).  
> Innocence is not a persona, it's a metaphor. While being referred to as Innocence, the pronouns I chose are "It's" and "It" because It's also referred to as something you feel, not a person. Tubbo will be referred to as He/Him once he gets properly introduced as a character, but for Ch.1 he is referenced to as They/They're/Them.
> 
> #2: This is NOT a ship fic. 
> 
> #3: I will not be using any of the real names of the streamers (besides Willbur, Phil, and Tommy) because I know not all of them are comfortable with it. 
> 
> #4: This fic is based on Fae/Fairy folklore (kinda) Think middle-ages/medieval :)
> 
> #5: Sbi live in poverty due to the oppression and injustice against lower-class workers.
> 
> #6: Sbi is very briefly described in the first chapter. Only Will and Techno are mentioned (besides Tommy ofc), and they are referenced by "Brother" with small descriptions of their characteristics.
> 
> and last but not least, #7: This chapter is told from Tommy's perspective, so assume from the get-go that the very concise descriptions (ex: "He" "Him") are referencing Tommy.

_ Knowing Innocence. _

_ Isn't it better this way?! _ he argued, voice rough with conviction. 

There was a scream for a retort. There was the nostalgic sound of the heel of his father's boot scraping pavement. Maybe he missed this.

He didn't, and a thin arm was wrapped around his own, trying It's best to keep him steady. 

"Stop! Stop! You're not helping!" The gentle voice of Innocence crashed past his ear. He didn't listen. 

There's betrayal, and there's the fear of responsibility; They might come hand-in-hand. It's not back-stabbing more than it is misgiving. That doesn't mean it's right, but recognition is what settles conflicts.

Innocence shouts his name, and it sounds like aching; Like the regret of committing. It's a question that sears through It's yell, asking those who choose to listen. Maybe it wasn't meant to be heard. There is no hum of intention now, it's confusion pitting against him, and he can't blame it. It's the unrecognizable leer of violence in Innocence's eyes that reveals a bit too much, convinces perhaps too quickly. It's sharp and painful, unavoidable. He wonders how it would feel to run his fingers across the blade and cry when blood spills - a child's way of comprehending.

He wonders how many times it takes for a child to fall from a tree for them to realize they can't climb it. How many bruises and nicks and bandaids it takes for one to understand that maybe they're not cut out for it and should stop trying. He wonders if kids know what backing down is.

He thinks of liquid red iron leaking through white cotton, and he remembers the soft murmur of Innocence, telling him he should give up climbing the big oak tree outside the school. Because maybe his hands aren't calloused enough to clutch, and perhaps his knee's are too knobby to stay in place. He wonders what will happen when Innocence isn't there to stitch him back together - when bandaids aren't enough to heal the wounds he keeps creating.

But Innocence smiles and giggles, that one laugh that sounds like a wind chime swaying and crashing together, but also like salty waves bashing the shore, calling out to Mother Nature. He gets reminded of it a lot; How Innocence is vines growing up old brick houses and water droplets dripping from a leaf. Innocence is the sweet swell of a pie's crust when it's baked, rising and falling, and rising again. 

Innocence may be honey in tea, the metal spoon tapping porcelain - the lift of eyes when a stir is too noisy, and mother just got to the climax of her book.

He stares, and Innocence looks up at him, searching for something he himself has yet to find.

"What was once wrong is wicked no more. To some, it might create conflict, for other's relief; Because change is inevitable, but so abominated." 

It's fragile, the world they persist on. It needs caring from those like Innocence, those who judge but do not despise. It needs seeking out, though it lurks in its ravines and deep oceans, it remains unseen. Innocence seeks and finds; Its ability that could only come from the genes of Mother Nature, crafted by God's even greater than herself.

Conversing becomes a struggle when Innocence lays a grasp on his own, a flash of something, like churning tea and a brand-new blister. Innocence does not reassure but instead gazes at him with pacific eyes, asking without words. 

Innocence could shake the earth with the lift of It's tongue, with the sway of a finger. The agreement to do not so is beyond what the world has known.

-

_ Leaving Innocence. _

Rain splatters against the window, and he thinks it might be a warning for malice. Because he shouldn't have left so abruptly, and maybe his voice was raised too high, he spoke too brutally. 

Rain splatters against the window, and he wonders if it's grief that caused a leak in his ceiling. It's a rhythmic sound of dripping, it was quiet before, but the building puddle beneath the crack has emphasized the dribble. 

Goosebumps are running up his arm. The drip from the ceiling begins to swallow his mind whole. Perhaps the rhythm it had is now lost. Rain hits the roof harder. The windows seem like one thunderclap away from shattering. His coffee has gone cold, and there might be another presence in the room. He looks around, like a child does after doing something mischievous, and sighs when all he sees is the pool beneath the crack. 

Rain splatters against the window.

-

They hum, comely in the way their mouth moves, the way their tongue twists in lyrics he's never heard. Heard melodies are sweeter. 

He identifies the tilt of a smile, crooked teeth caged by reddish lips. A laugh that rings in his ears - wind chimes crashing together.

They sit at a dark oak table, circled each other. Three brothers. A lost stranger. The muffled sounds of the deserted cottage they took place to. He'd never seen the stranger before, but they seem familiar. 

The stranger was youthful. His age, maybe a bit older, and they stood small in height. Brown hair that looked a lot like the color of the table they sat at, and green eyes, ones that reminded him of the lily pads that lived atop the pond outside.

He thinks the stranger's crooked teeth are novel, as he'd been blessed with rather high-grade genetics, for the most part. He liked the way it made the stranger look; Strange, but human.

One of his brothers says something about going to sleep. Another mentions the stanger, how they might be too young to go out at this time in the dark, and should camp with them until the morning. 

The stranger nods and looks at him. 

"Where should I sleep?" It's a whisper that sounds so achingly familiar. Like he's getting bandaged up again, and he's being told not to climb the oak tree outside their school. 

He feels dizzy, and he points to his own bed in the corner of the room. It's only two blankets and a pillow. 

"You- You'll sleep there." It comes out shaky, and the others are watching him with curious eyes now.

It's quiet for a bit, just the sound of creaking floorboards and wind from outside.

"And where will you sleep?" 

There's a chuckle from one of his brothers, the one that wears cheap gold around his firm fingers. 

"You'll figure it out," The brother starts. "You could always share a bed."

The stranger sputters for a moment and looks down at their lap. 

"That... That would be unnecessary. It would be rude of me to steal a bed from someone. If I could have a blanket, I'll be fine for the night." The stranger says. They sound unsure of themselves - like they are saying such things because they must, not because they want to.

"And wouldn't it be rude of us to make a stranger sleep on the cold floor? Tommy can deal with it for a night." The brother continues, gesturing towards Tommy with a frown like he was the one putting up an argument.

He sighs, rubbing his eyes. 

"We can share. I don't mind." He mumbles tiredly. The stranger nods and sets off to the pile of blankets in the corner while one of the brother's blows out the candlelight. 

Once Tommy settles next to the stranger, more tired than ever, he notices the tiny ounce of light that emanates from their hands. 

The stranger is strange, that's for sure.

**Author's Note:**

> there will be a more in-depth analysis of both Tommy's and Tubbo's characters in the next chapter :0


End file.
